Of Storms and Hard Times
by MadCatta
Summary: This involves my take on how the twins agree to work for Don, but mostly involves the request of Jamie's displeasure with storms, and well, Scott's a good big brother, even if he isn't that technically.


**This was a request. Only, yeah, I miss Po5, and Scott and Jamie... and well, I've always wanted to write a bit of how Don White convinced them, because you know, angst and pain and oh it's so feely. So I extended this request a bit, just to add in bits I've always wanted to write... **

**Hope you enjoy it, SamWin98. **

Jamie ran through the hotel, leaping over a chair at a low speed and into a dark room. He couldn't move nearly fast enough, instead feeling like he was running through jell-o. Through the next room, he ran, past a great many restrooms and a waiter and into the kitchen. A door flung open and Jamie ran through as fast as he could, as slow as it was, and down from the ceiling swung a rope and a pale face, spittle around the mouth, and great bulging, staring eyes, staring right at him, closer and closer-

"ARGGH!" Jamie Tyler sat bolt upright, sweating and rubbing the tears off his face. He jumped as the end of his bed – the couch he was on – sank down slightly.

"Jay?" Scott sat closer, grabbing Jamie's arms. He was breathing erratically and crying and sobbing as the dead man's face swam back into his vision.

Scott shook him lightly. "Don't," he said, worried. Jamie tried to control his breathing but broke into sobbing again.

"W-where-" Jamie tried to say, not recognizing immediately the room they were in.

A flash of a very fat man and very fat woman from Scott's mind.

"Don- their place," Scott answered. He looked scared. Scott never looked scared. That made Jamie scared.

"I'm not scared," Scott said softly, but they both knew he was lying. Jamie appreciated the gesture, though, and calmed down enough to remember the funeral, remember Leanne crying and swearing and drinking and talking to the fat couple, remember coming into this house and being given a couch to sleep between the two of them when it was still light out and didn't get dinner. Had barely even spoken to them.

And now it was the middle of the night and Jamie was cold and afraid and crying and the only good thing he could think of was sitting right in front of him, gripping his arms tightly, head resting on Jamie's forehead and thinking reassuring thoughts of better times, like that couple in Yerrington with the dog and the dog really loved the boys because they loved walking him, or that girl who'd befriended them last year, if briefly.

Jamie calmed down, his breathing came easier and the fear left him slowly.

The face left him, eventually, too. But memories of Ed would always be there and were in both of their heads, and as Jamie settled back to sleep, Scott was facing another sleepless night, for the face never quite left him alone.

**-OoO-**

Scott tried to sleep on his front, but that meant he was breathing in the musty couch arm. For once, on top of the cushions on the floor was the better of their makeshift beds, even if it meant having roaches crawling over them a few times a night.

He shifted, winced, and gave up, turning around onto his side. Jamie was awake and watching him, the offer to swap beds at the forefront of his mind. Scott shook his head slightly. No.

But they wouldn't give in. No way were they going to perform in front of people – the fucking _power_ they had wasn't gonna be a stupid trick, and show off what they could do, and do it day in day out because _he _wanted them to.

They wouldn't.

**-OoO-**

It was the fifth day they'd been with Don White and Marcie Kelsey, and the morning of the third day since they'd eaten.

And it was his fault, all of it.

If Scott hadn't said – _that_ – but don't think about it, but he couldn't not think about it not with Ed's face, his big dead face, in his head and in Jamie's head – but it was that or food. He didn't even feel the hunger any more, but food wouldn't go from his head.

Don White – _not Uncle Don, never Uncle Don_ – he couldn't keep this up much longer. He'd kill them, one day.

"Hey! Get down here!"

That's how they were addressed – 'Hey'. Or 'hey you' to a specific twin in the close vicinity – sometimes Jamie wondered if he even knew their names. But mostly he wondered what food Uncle Don –

_Don't call him that_, came into his head. Scott.

Right, yeah. Wondered what food Don would be eating. Wondered when. Wondered about its smell, about how much more he'd need to get to fill the boys up too. About how obscene it was to see ketchup and mayo dripping from his fat fingers, and how much they wanted to go to the other room but how much the smell kept them.

It was worst when Don and Marcie both left the room, very briefly, leaving the food and it was only Scott's restraint that kept them from eating it.

Scott and Jamie made their way downstairs. There were four large pizza boxes on the kitchen table, Don White standing next to them, smiling.

"Look at this," he said, opening the first pizza box. Jamie, almost involuntarily, stepped closer to the pizza box. Where'd he even get pizzas this time of morning?

Don stepped closer, between the twins now. Jamie looked at him and then –

Scott cried out, angry, not scared or hurt.

Jamie's cheek was on fire. He brought a hand to his face as Don did the same but dropped his hand slightly lower and Jamie's head knocked back against the wall. He stood there, breathing heavily, scared and hurt, as Don's hand clenched around the neck of his shirt.

"Don't you touch him!" Scott yelled out, and through it all, through Scott's anger and through his pain, through Scott's pain too because it hurt him for Jamie to be hurt, and then there was fear in Scott's mind, fear for Jamie but fear for himself, because they both knew what happened when Scott was really angry.

Don White turned around, facing Scott, who was also breathing heavily, and spoke.

"Look at that." He gestured to Jamie's cheek that was beginning to swell. "You don't do what I tell you, I'll beat him. I'll beat him good and proper. I'll beat him 'til he bleeds, I'll beat him 'til he's lying there, on the floor, unconscious. And there won't be nothing you can do about it."

Scott didn't say anything. Don jerked the neck of Jamie's shirt and Jamie breathed in sharply.

"Stop it!" Scott cried out.

"No," said Don.

Jamie tried to tell Scott that he'd be fine, that he was strong, it wasn't worth it. But Scott wasn't listening to him, his mind was too busy already.

"Okay!"

"What?" Don said, pulling Jamie closer.

"We'll do it, we'll do it!" Scott didn't tear his eyes from Jamie's.

"Yeah? Good." Don grinned cruelly once, pushed Jamie back from him and let go. He took two of the pizzas and left to the other room.

Scott, Jamie knew, was already regretting his move, but as soon as Scott heard him think that, he said, "No. I... you okay?"

Scott was struggling with this.

Jamie nodded. He suddenly felt very faint, very faint and very empty. But there was food right by them, and so Jamie and Scott ate pizza and began to accept their new life.

**-OoO-**

They shouldn't be out. Should really be shut up with Uncle Don and Marcie. And, all things considered, they weren't too bad, but they hated – well, Scott hated – that they weren't awful. Because Don was an ass, he really was, but once or twice since they'd been living with him, he'd been okay. Said something funny about someone on TV and both boys cracked a smile, or one time Marcie brought home soda rather than alcohol.

And Scott hated that he didn't hate them. Maybe they were all more comfortable around each other when realising that they depended on each other, than they'd have a good few years living together at least. And they weren't as bad as Ed and Leanne – sure, Don and Marcie yelled a fair bit, and Don drank and he'd hit Scott a few times more when he'd been mouthy, but somehow there was a stability in the household.

Which again, Scott hated.

Scott looked sideways at Jamie, scowling more on sight of the large bruise on his face. To Scott, that was a mark of his failure. To Jamie, it was a large bruise on his face.

"Stop it," said Jamie.

To be fair, it had actually been Scott's fault, which was why he felt bad. He'd said a few things at Uncle Don, provoking him, from the other room. Uncle Don had come through and hit the first twin he'd seen – Jamie.

The sun was hot and the air was humid, and neither of them was in a good mood. And with everything, Jamie knew Ed's death was still on Scott's mind, and it was on his too – how could it not be?

"Stop it," Scott said. Jamie looked at him with half a smile on his face, but Scott wasn't smiling back. He looked tense and had a set jaw and certainly wasn't in good humour.

But Scott wasn't in good humour, of course he wasn't, he'd hardly been since The Accident.

Scott actually flinched as the two words crossed Jamie's mind, and he picked up his pace.

"Sorry," Jamie called out after Scott.

Scott was angry. He was angry at 'Uncle' Don and Marcie, angry with the hot sun, angry with the noisy city, with the bums on the street, with himself for Ed- everything, with social services for letting them get in this mess, with the people who were staring at the twins, even with Jamie.

Probably for having the bruise on his face, Jamie thought bitterly. Part of Scott's bad mood was, no doubt, from having been rudely awoken in the night by Jamie's nightmare. It wasn't his fault, not really, but Ed's dead face came swinging into his dreams, as they happened often recently. Jamie had been able to get back to sleep after calming down but Scott hadn't, and had been grumpy ever since.

"At least we're not in school," said Jamie brightly, gesturing to the imposing building opposite.

Scott didn't reply.

Jamie tried again. "Remember back when-"

"Leave it Jamie, will you?" snapped Scott.

"Just trying to talk," Jamie muttered.

"Yeah, well, I don't want to."

"Yeah, I noticed!"

Scott stopped. He glared at Jamie.

"What?" demanded Jamie.

Scott opened his mouth and closed it with a scowl.

Jamie scowled right back. "I'm not the one being – "

"Being what, exactly?"

A group of fitting words flickered across Jamie's mind; worse were in Scott's. Jamie could feel it, both of their anger for weeks, for everything, with nothing to take it out on but each other.

And that they could do, for Scott knew exactly what would rile Jamie – Jamie who was always so much calmer than he. And Jamie knew what would annoy Scott the most.

They thought that simultaneously. Felt each other think it, and that was enough to hurt both twins, that the other was using their relationship.

"You got us into this mess. I'm allowed to be angry," said Jamie, bitterly.

And Scott knew it was coming. "I wouldn't have had to if you could look out for yourself once or twice."

Jamie felt hot embarrassment.

"Fuck you," he muttered.

"Yeah? Fuck you too!" Scott turned and walked off.

"You can't just -" Jamie shook his head. "Fine, piss off then!"

Scott didn't acknowledge him, just stuck his hands in his pockets and kept on walking.

Jamie turned around, heading off back the way they'd come, back towards Uncle Don's place.

No, he didn't want to go there, so he took a side street. He didn't know this area properly, didn't know where he was going, so he just went, thinking of – everything. Everything that made him angry, why it wasn't his fault, even who he wanted to hurt.

And who he had hurt.

He barely noticed the change in the weather, the sky darkening slightly, the clouds drawing in. It was still hot and oddly humid, sticky.

And he didn't know where he was or how far he'd gone by the time the sky was actually dark. But it was only four in the afternoon and it was summer. There were a great many very dark clouds in the sky.

And the temperature dropped suddenly. Rain started hitting the ground, and it wasn't long before the sky flashed. Not long after there was a loud rumble.

Jamie looked up at the sky. It was such a childish thing – and he was eleven, for Christ's sake – but Jamie didn't like storms. He never had. They never happened often, so it was okay, but. But.

Occasionally they'd been in group homes. Not often, for there weren't many anymore. But for problem children, as Scott and Jamie had been branded, short stays in group homes could be necessary for when no one wanted two boys with behavioural problems. By eight, Jamie had felt ashamed of being scared of storms. He'd been bullied a bit for it. And once, some boys, older boys, had come into his and Scott's (and that other kid's) room during a storm.

That had been the most scared he'd ever been in his life, and it certainly hadn't helped his fear of storms.

And so Jamie was scared. And Scott wasn't around; Scott wasn't around and was mad at him and he was alone and in a storm, in a place he didn't know.

And the trouble with what they'd said to each other, Scott thought, was that they were both absolutely true. Where the hell would Jamie be without him? Might not be in this mess, that's true. But – hell, Jamie needed him.

There was another fork of lightening, and Scott thought of Jamie. Jamie wouldn't be very comfortable right now, and Scott felt some cruel pleasure at this. And the next second, felt a strong hatred with himself. Hatred and disgust.

And fear – but that wasn't his. That was Jamie's fear. He wasn't far away, then. Part of him wanted to stay here in the storm and leave Jamie. Part of him was a dick.

And Jamie – Jamie was scared and sitting on a bench, getting very wet.

He jumped every time he heard thunder and wished for the storm to end.

And six blocks away, when thunder crackled, Scott too jumped. He didn't mean to. It wasn't him who made himself jump – he jumped because Jamie did. Scott could feel his fear. Could feel that, while they'd both walked away in anger, they hadn't walked far from each other.

Of course they didn't. They never went far from each other. Especially given what Ed had said –

Scott headed that thought off, Jamie filling his mind again.

And Jamie sat on a bench and pulled up his knees to his chest, feeling remarkably young. Young and scared and reminiscent of his younger self, thinking dark thoughts and remembering everything he had to fear and everything he did fear, and why, and their histories, and everything that could now happen to him.

Until a calmer thought came into his head.

No, more a feeling. A feeling of familiarity and closeness, a safety. Jamie looked up. He saw nothing but did feel something.

All his bad thoughts were slowly being pushed away. Not much, not hard – they were still there and Jamie was still scared, but something was softening his worries.

"Jay?"

Jamie looked up. Scott was there in front of him, managing both to surprise Jamie and not to – on some level he knew Scott was getting near him but his most conscious level was more concerned with the storm and their arguments. They were both breathing heavily, for Scott had run the six blocks, and both were dripping wet. Scott took his shoulders and leaned on so their foreheads were resting on each others', focusing on calming thoughts. Reassuring thoughts.

The storm was over quickly, leaving the twins soaking wet on the park bench.

"Nothing to be scared of," said Scott quietly.

"I know."

**One thing I'm really not happy with, and for anyone reading this I'd so love to know what you think. Well, for one, I think Scott and Jamie are more in touch with emotions because of their powers and experiences – they're more emotionally mature in some respects than other eleven year olds. That's how I excuse the ability to name each emotion, when I think at eleven it's much more of a mess. Hell, it's always a mess of emotions, but more so when you're young. How do you get this across in fiction? I can't for the life of me.**

**And I say I'm not happy with this. But I am. **

**Love you always,**

**Cait xx**


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